


A Fuster Cluck of a Mission

by shadowmaat



Series: A Bounty of Brothers [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chickens, Gen, Mission Fic, hopeless crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 23:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat
Summary: Surge Squad's first mission was supposed to be a simple fact-finding expedition. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

Commander Smokey kept watch as General Mar led them towards a modest spaceport on the midlevels of Coruscant. She’d told him it was safe and he was sure it was, but this was Surge Squad’s first real mission since the aftermath of Geonosis and he wanted everything to go right. He also understood on a bone-deep level that “safe” didn’t always live up to your expectations. Grek Squad had thought the training field was safe, too, right up until the weapons cache had exploded, setting fire to everything around it, including them.

Behind him he could hear Mimic gushing yet again about how wonderful their new pilot was. He’d come back from that initial meeting with stars in his eyes and bags of food for the rest of them. It was amazing to think that most of the universe took things like burgers and nerf nuggets for granted and it made going back to their usual rations that much worse, though their General had promised to take steps to supplement their food.

Boba, meanwhile, was a dark cloud wrapped in white armor stomping beside him. Through careful inquiry, bribes, and some blackmail, they’d managed to cadge together a set of cadet armor for him and he was less than happy about it. Well, less happy than usual. He’d drawn a few curious looks so far, but no untoward interest.

“I don’t know why I have to come,” Boba muttered. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“It isn’t about being able to take care of yourself,” Smokey said with infinite patience. They’d been through this argument several times before and as frustrating as it was- for both of them- he had to admire the kid’s tenacity. “Tenacity,” of course, being another way of saying “stubborn as a gundark with a toothache.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Boba huffed into his helmet’s mic. “It’s about keeping me away from nosy interfering Jedi, which I could do just as well by-”

_ “And _ your father’s enemies,  _ and _ the Separatists who probably think you know all your father’s secrets-”

“I don’t think-”

_ “And, _ of course, random lowlifes and slavers who would see you as an easy target no matter how well you think you can handle yourself,” Smokey said.

“I know how to handle a bunch of dumb slavers!”

“Yeah, but with us around you won’t have to handle them alone!” Tooka swatted the back of his helmet.

“Hopefully we won’t have to handle them at all,” Thumper added.

Boba muttered wordlessly in reply to that.

“There she is!” General Mar gestured at the ship on the landing pad ahead. “Welcome to your home for the next few days, gentlemen.”

Smokey didn’t know anything at all about civilian freighters. This one looked like it was hunched on the landing pad, ready to jump at a moment’s notice. A grinning dog-like animal had been painted on what passed for the nose of the ship along with its name.

_ “Trixter’s Gambit?” _ Stitch read. “Subtle, isn’t she?”

“As subtle as Sangi Fever,” Mar agreed.

The cargo lift descended as they approached revealing a short human woman in muted gray coveralls. Her hair was indeed streaked in purple and blue, tied back in a messy ponytail, and she had an eyepatch covering her right eye.

“That’s her!” Mimic said. “Wait. I thought-”

“Issy!” Trix raised both hands and hopped down the remaining distance to the ground. “And you brought more friends for me!”

He heard Mar groan before walking forward to meet her. “Trix, are all the supplies loaded?”

“All except the most important cargo.” She leaned past Mar to wave at them. Mimic waved back. 

Now that the two of them were together it was clear Trix was even shorter than their general.

“Thank you again for doing this,” Mar said.

“Hey, you know me, I’m always happy to take the Order’s credits.”

“I know that isn’t the only reason.”

They hugged. Trix briefly lifted Mar off her feet, making her squeal, then she was elbowing past her to approach the rest of them.

“Welcome, gentlemen!” She tilted her head, looking at Boba. “And the one who shrunk in the wash. Maybe we can stretch you out on the way, huh?”

Smokey could almost feel Boba’s bristled offence and smiled. He could tell this pilot was going to be a nuisance, but maybe she’d be the good kind.

“Let’s get you all onboard and settled,” she continued, gesturing to the loading lift. “I’m not running any cargo on this trip, so you’ll have plenty of room to run around and do whatever it is you guys do when you aren’t shooting up droids.” 

Smokey gave the signal and they all followed after her. She continued to narrate as they rose into the ship, apologizing for her jacuzzis being in the shop for repair and for her staff of masseuses, chefs, personal trainers, and her concierge all being on vacation at the same time. Behind her he could see Mar gently massaging the area under her gills.

Their helmets came off as soon as they were onboard and Mar introduced everyone. For all her diminutive size, he still felt pinned in place when Trix’s gaze landed on him. He watched her size him up and waited to see what kind of joke she’d make about his appearance.

“If it hurts I have something that can help. Burns suck.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are,” she said, with a faint gleam in her eye.

Mimic frowned at him as the introductions moved on, though his disapproval quickly shifted to Tooka when Trix started complimenting him on his hair and offered to share some of her hyperdyes so his tooka spots would look more authentic. Smokey really hoped Mimic’s crush wasn’t going to become an issue.

“And this is Bo,” Mar concluded. “He… isn’t much of a people person.”

Boba scowled up at them but kept his mouth shut.

“Yeah, I thought he looked like the smart one of the group.” She nodded at him. “Good job, sir.”

Boba scoffed at her, although Smokey thought he picked up a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. Whether it was the “sir” or just the approval itself he didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if Boba knew, either.

Mimic stepped forward. “Uh, I just have one question, if that’s okay?” 

“Hi Mimic.” She smiled, reaching out to rap her knuckles on his chestplate. “Don’t worry, my chefs may not be here but I’ll make sure you’re all well fed, since  _ Issa _ seems incapable of doing that.”

Mar sighed. “I’m working on it, Trix, trust me.”

“I always trust the Jedi,” she replied, rolling her eye.

“It isn’t about the food.” Faint color darkened his cheeks. “I was just, uh… wasn’t your eyepatch on your left eye last time?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Was it? Sorry!” She reached up and shifted the patch over, revealing another perfectly functional pale blue eye.

Mimic stared. So did Smokey. The others had already moved off the platform and missed the display.

“And that’s why we’re careful about trusting anyone who calls herself Trix,” Mar said, resting a hand on the shoulder of the aptly-named pilot. “Or Jester, or Pranq…”

“I liked Ruez while it lasted.” She shook her head. “Anyway, come on and I’ll show you to your rooms.”

Mimic followed her but Smokey hung back, glancing at his general.

“Was she the only choice?”

Mar laughed, causing Trix to glance back and grin at them.

“She loves to put on a good show, but when your back is to the wall you’ll be glad she’s in your corner.” She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing at his scar tissue. “And she  _ will _ be in your corner. Always.”

Smokey grunted. He’d need some time to think about that, though he was sure Trix would at least get them where they were going. And back again.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s see what she’s done with the Gambit since the last time I was on.” 

While the cargo hold was bare the rest of the ship seemed… “homey,” if he was understanding the word correctly. Some of the walls had been painted, trinkets hung in odd places, and he could smell something that wasn’t rations cooking.

“How did she add more rooms?” Mar murmured, drawing his attention to the cramped corridor ahead. Trix was opening doors into what were presumably crew quarters. Four doors to four rooms. They’d be doubled up, but that was still more privacy than was available in the barracks.

“You’re with me, Runt,” he said, placing a hand on Boba’s head and guiding him into the nearest room.

There was one bed on either side with shelving overhead that held a few knick-knacks with space left over for whatever gear of their own they might have. There were sliding drawers under the beds, too, which were probably meant to contain changes of clothing, but worked well to hold their armor. They did have two sets of street clothes, too, but he chose to put those on the shelf.

Boba was sitting on one of the beds, trying to pull off his armor. “Zam had a quilt like this,” he said.

The beds were covered by quilts. Boba’s was some kind of patchwork while the one on his bed was fuzzy and nexu-striped. It seemed a little extravagant to waste on clones, especially if all the rooms had them. He wondered if he should have asked General Mar for more information about Trix’s background. 

“Zam, huh?” He tried not to project too much interest. Boba was very tight-lipped about his past, other than making sure they all knew how much better his life had been with Jango.  _ Dad _ fed him real food.  _ Dad _ let him stay up all night reading.  _ Dad _ let him handle the explosives.

Boba shrugged, dropping his chestplate on the floor with a clunk. “She was a friend of Dad’s. She was lots of fun.”

As opposed to them, he meant. Smokey stored the last of his armor pieces in the drawer and started dressing in his first set of civilian clothes, pulling them on over his blacks.

“She sounds nice.”

That earned him another shrug, but no further comment. 

Boba’s own clothes were the ones he’d been wearing on Geonosis. So far he’d resisted all efforts to add to or change his wardrobe. Stitch, who’d been researching trauma in children, said it was normal and that there was no cause for concern. Yet. General Mar had sent them to be cleaned, so at least the worst of the stains were gone and he thanked the stars that lightsabers cauterized as they cut. 

He could hear the hum of the engines warming up as he left the room to check on the rest of the squad. Boba was already wrapped in the quilt and studying his homework. Or, more likely, reading an adventure holonovel. Either way Smokey wasn’t going to disturb him.

The sound of chatter led him down the corridor to a small galley/lounge. Tooka was sprawled across a short couch, head hanging upside down off one end as he ate a blackish brown square.

“Smokey!” Thumper was seated at a table with Mimic while Stitch fought with the caf machine behind them. “You have to try one!” His voice was muffled by a mouthful of food. He held up another one of the squares from a plate of them on the table.

“They’re called brownies,” Mimic said, swallowing his own mouthful before he spoke. “They’re made with chocolate!”

That explained the sweet smell in the air, at least. His stomach gave a slight lurch, as it usually did during takeoff, but he accepted the bar and took a cautious bite. The flavor was almost overpowering; earthy and syrupy with a thick, almost silken texture. He chewed slowly, savoring it.

“Good, huh?” Thumper grinned. “Where’s Boba? There’s enough for him, too. As long as we fend off Tooka.”

Tooka flipped him off but made no move to get up from the couch.

“Reading in our room.” He took another bite and then set the brownie down; that was enough. “Where’s the General?”

“In the cockpit with Trix.” Thumper gave Mimic a sidelong look. “Given that they’re sharing a room and all I think maybe the two of them are, y’know,  _ friends. _ With benefits.”

Mimic scowled. “You shouldn’t talk about the General like that.”

“The General? Or Trix?” Thumper laughed. “You got it bad, vod.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” Face darkening in a blush, Mimic grabbed another brownie before going to hover at the caf machine Stitch had finally loaded up.

Smokey shook his head. “I hope she doesn’t torture him too much when she figures it out.”

“Yeah, I like her though.” Thumper loaded the last two brownies onto a napkin. “I’m gonna go check on Bo.”

“Don’t make a mess,” he warned, but Thumper was already gone.

The smell of hot caf cut through the smell of brownies. Once Stitch and Mimic were done jostling for position, he stood to get a cup of his own. The mugs were as mismatched as the quilts. He didn’t realize what was printed on his until he went to take his first sip.  _ Galaxy’s Okayest Dad. _ It was, he supposed, better than Thumper’s  _ Beefcakes of Bespin, _ but not as benign as the rainbow skulls on Stitch’s. The caf, at least, was good, and left him feeling alert enough to go check on the General.

“Every time,” Mar was saying. “How do you manage it?”

“What?” Trix responded in what he was coming to think of as sarcastic innocence. “I had to deliver some chickens there once, what’s the big deal?”

“Chickens,” Mar repeated, echoing his own disbelief.

The door to the cockpit was open, so he knocked on the wall.

“Smokey!” Trix swiveled on her chair, leaving Mar to grab for the controls. “How’s everyone settling in?”

“We’re fine, ma’am. Thank you for the… brownies?”

She beamed at him. “You’re very welcome! I have big plans for dinner, too. Gotta put some meat on those bones of yours.”

He debated pointing out that while army rations weren’t  _ tasty _ they contained enough calories and nutrients to keep himself and his brothers at a very respectable weight. Having known her less than an hour, however, he was already sure that she’d deny it.

“How’s Boba doing?”

He caught the slight darkening of Mar’s freckles as she realized she’d used his full name. Boba’s status as an unofficially official member of the squad was tricky enough where the Jedi were concerned, but a slicer friend of hers had also picked up a few whispers that some less savory types were on the hunt for Jango Fett’s missing “son.”

Trix, however, didn’t seem to notice.

“If he wants to come check out the cockpit, he’s more than welcome.” She swiveled back around, taking control of the steering again as she looked out the viewport at the stars. “Actually, that goes for the rest of you, too. I can always use another co-pilot.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know.” He glanced at Mar. “How about you, sir? Is everything OK?”

“As fine as it can be with Trix involved,” she said.

“Hey, I heard that!” Trix flipped her off as she checked the readouts on the navi-computer.

“I’m fine, Smokey.” Mar smiled. “You should probably rest up while you can.”

“We’ll be going into hyper in about five,” Trix said. “Feel free to spread the word.”

“Yes, sir.” He glanced at Trix. “Ma’am.” 

He turned to head back to the lounge.

_ “I’m adopting all of them.” _

_ “No, you’re not.” _

Shaking his head, he went to get more caf. This was going to be a long flight.

It did, however, turn out to be a pleasant one. Trix was an adequate cook and a genial host. Mimic tried recruiting her to the squad, but she said she preferred shooting off her mouth to shooting blasters. She had no objection to them practicing, however, and they set up a small training room in the empty cargo hold. It wasn’t strictly necessary for such a short trip, but Smokey figured it might keep the squad occupied and give Mimic something else to think about.

Boba took part in the training, but otherwise spent most of his time reading on his bed or curled up the lounge wrapped in the quilt. He stuck to monosyllabic answers and the occasional grunt and resisted all of Trix’s efforts to welcome him, but she didn’t seem to mind. She did, however, retaliate by calling him _Bow-and-arrow_ until he got annoyed enough to correct her. Smokey figured she deserved a few bonus points for that.


	2. Chapter 2

They landed on Varaxin without incident. Trix was planning to do some poking around to see if she could pick up any business while they went to the warehouse district to see if General Sifo-Dyas really had left behind anything useful. Or if he’d been here at all.

The warren of streets made good practice in checking for potential ambushes, though there was no reason to expect any trouble. Varaxin was a Republic world and just wasn’t that interesting; its major exports were textiles and cosmetics and its base population was only around a eighty million.

“Did anyone see that?” Tooka asked over the comm.

“See what?” Smokey looked in the direction Tooka was angled towards, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Warehouses, a few industrial droids trundling about, and a couple of rats scurrying for cover.

“It was tall and fast. Human-size, but… not the right shape?”

They kept walking, studying the alleyway where Tooka said the thing had gone, but whatever it was didn’t reappear.

“Keep an eye out anyway,” Smokey warned. “Could just be a nosy local.”

“I think this is it,” Mar said, studying the graying facade of a storage facility. She made a pretense of checking around her. “Oh dear, the manager doesn’t seem to be onsite. I guess we’ll have to let ourselves in. Mimic?”

“Got it.”

Pulling a device out of his his belt pouch, the team’s slicer slapped it to the wall over the electronic lock and pushed a series of buttons.

“Shouldn’t take-”

It beeped and there was a series of loud clicks as the locks disengaged.

“-long,” he finished, pushing down on the handle and dragging the door open.

Smokey had his blaster up, scanning their surroundings in case the noise had attracted any attention and noticed the others doing the same. After a minute he signalled All Clear to the General and entered the storage facility ahead of her, just in case.

The squad fanned out, checking the interior of the vast warehouse full of storage lockers. There were narrow walkways between blocks of units and everything was covered in dust, rust, and cobwebs. Grimy sunlight filtered down through windows that looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned since before Smokey had been de-tanked.

“Should be down this way,” Mar said, consulting her datapad as she walked with confidence between the rows. “Annnd D-20! This is the one!”

Mimic set to work again. General Dyas must have been more paranoid- or perhaps just more technologically savvy- than Stor-Rite’s manager because it was taking longer to get through the encryptions.

Boba wandered off, kicking at bits of detritus on the floor and dragging his fingers through the dust on the sides of the storage units. Smokey kept half an eye on him, though he was sure if anyone had been in the warehouse they’d have known it by now.

“Sorry, General,” Mimic said. “I guess Jedi encryptions are better than the regular kind.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mimic,” Mar said. “When we get back I’ll have to introduce you to Zip. He can probably tell you all kinds of things you shouldn’t know.”

“I’d like that.”

“Hey,” Boba said. “Can you guys hear that?”

Everyone fell silent, listening. 

“I don’t-” 

The lock emitted a loud squeal before clicking open. Smokey exhaled, trying to calm his nerves.

“Grab anything that seems likely,” Mar said. “I don’t want to waste any more time here than necessary. This place makes my  _ ahwey _ itch.

Smokey didn’t know if it was a Nautolan thing or a Force thing or what, but he was inclined to take her caution as his own.

“You heard her,” he said, unclipping a pack from his back. “Let’s load up and move out.”

The others were already moving to do just that. The storage locker itself was fairly small. Tooka went first and started tossing things out to the rest of them.

“Data crystals, notebooks, some weird- I mean historical- sculptures,” he said as he went.

Smokey checked on Boba again to find him creeping between a couple of rows halfway between them and the door.

“Bo, get back here.”

“It sounds like a… like a  _ chicken?” _

Now that he mentioned it Smokey realized he could hear a grumbly squawking sound over the chatter of the squad.

“Leave it alone and get back here,” he ordered, accepting an armload of discs from Tooka and jamming them in his pack.

A loud “WAAARRK!” split the air followed by Boba screaming.

Smokey dropped his pack, running in Boba’s direction as he unholsterd his sidearm.

Blaster fire erupted as Boba reappeared, scrabbling backwards as he shot at whatever had attacked him.

“Bo! Get over here!” He took aim at the narrow opening as Thumper blew past him, running right at the tiny set of stark white armor.

“Not a chicken!” Boba shouted, firing again. “Not a chicken!”

There was a loud hiss as the creature finally appeared. It was well over six feet tall, its feathery body supported on two scaly, column-like legs that ended in taloned claws. It had a long, sinuous neck like a snake and a wedge-shaped head with bulbous eyes and a triangular beak.

Smokey took a shot, but it moved as he fired, causing him to miss. 

The thing hissed, rearing its head back and opening its beak as Thumper tackled Boba, pulling him into his arms as they rolled away from the creature.

It turned out to be a good move because when the thing’s head snapped forward it loosed a gout of flame.

“Frip!” Stitch took a shot, too. “What the frip is that thing?!”

“Dragonbird!” Mar shouted. “That is in  _ no way _ a chicken, Trix!”

Her saber glowed a burnished gold as she ignited it, heading towards the dragonbird.

Smokey fired again, hitting his target this time, though it barely seemed to notice. The left side of his face tingled at the sight of the fire, which had splattered against the front of a storage locker and continued to burn.

“Their vomit combusts on contact with the air!” Mar said. “Don’t let it hit you!”

“WAARRK!” 

The sound came from above them. Smokey pivoted, firing up as another dragonbird appeared on top of a stack of lockers.

“WAARRK!” Sounded from across the room.

“Kriff, we’re surrounded,” Tooka said.

“Get those packs!” Mar commanded. “I can handle this!” 

“Killed by fire-breathing chickens,” Mimic muttered, leaving off the defense to jam more stuff into his pack. “Not the way I thought I’d go!”

Thumper ran past Mar, carrying a struggling Boba in his arms. “Let’s get the stuff and get out of here! Here!” He said, planting Boba on the ground and shoving a pack in his arms. “Hold this!”

“But I-”

“Do it!” Thumper snapped. And Boba did.

Another gout of flaming vomit splashed onto the floor near Smokey from the one on top of the lockers.

“General, are you sure about this?”

He glanced at her to find her waving her lightsaber slowly back and forth in front of the first dragonbird, crooning to it. She made a shooing gesture at him with her free hand. Reluctantly he started backing towards General Dyas’s locker.

There was no time to sort through “likely” and “unimportant;” they jammed what they could grab into their packs and prepared to get out.

“Tell me there’s a back door,” Tooka said.

“If there isn’t, I can make one,” Thumper assured him, patting his belt.

“General?” Shouldering his pack Smokey had his blaster in hand again.

She was backing towards them, still waving her lightsaber and making soft noises at three of the dragonbirds who were following her. Their heads swiveled to watch the saber.

“On the count of three we’re going two aisles over and making a run for the entrance,” she said, her voice a soft sing-song. “Got it?”

“Yes, General,” they said, getting ready. Even Boba managed a “yeah.”

“One… two… NOW!” She snapped her saber off and turned to run.

Smokey made sure he was the one bringing up the rear so he could protect her if he had to. Mimic took the lead and Thumper had scooped up Boba again, not wanting to chance his smaller legs.

Fire alarms started to screech, blending in with the screams out the outraged dragonbirds. Water rained down on them from overhead sprinklers, but they made it to the entrance without incident.

Mimic ran out. There was an inhuman scream followed by a shout as Mimic was flung back into the warehouse, armor scraping as he skidded along the floor.

“Mimic!” Stitch ran in his direction as a fourth dragonbird appeared in the doorway, wings mantled and head canted back.

“NO!”

Mar brought her hands together, palms facing out. The dragonbird was flung backwards with a startled squawk.

“Is Mimic OK?” She turned, starting towards where Stitch was crouched on the floor.

“He’s alive,” Stitch said. “But we need to get him outta here!”

Smokey went to help him lift Mimic, who groaned.

“What wuzzat?”

“I think it kicked you,” Stitch said, indicating the three-pronged indentation in his chestplate, tipped with puncture marks.

The three remaining dragonbirds were coming up fast, so Stitch took one side and Smokey took the other and they hefted Mimic between them as they ran for the door.

Once they were all out Mar gestured and the door rolled shut, trapping their pursuers inside. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

“Let’s go before anyone shows up to ask questions,” Mar said, leading them back the way they’d come.

“I’ve… got some… questions,” Mimic wheezed.

“Save your breath, vod,” Stitch said.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Boba asked, wriggling free of Thumper’s hold.

“He might have some cracked ribs, but he’ll survive,” Stitch reassured him.

The small, helmeted head stared at him for a moment.

“Whatever.” Boba turned and stomped to catch up with Tooka, avoiding a pat from Thumper on the way.

“Knew… he liked me… best,” Mimic said.

Mar “borrowed” a speeder for them to make the trip faster. Stitch got Mimic’s helmet off and checked his eyes while Smokey made sure he stayed upright.

“Might have a small concussion, too. Gonna have some spectacular bruises later.”

“Can I say I got ‘em fighting off a droid army?” 

Mimic’s words were slurring a bit. Smokey was glad their medic always had his medkit on him, though he did wonder at the strength of the painkillers he’d injected into their slicer.

“What, you don’t want to say you lost a fight to a bird?” Tooka’s tone was light, but Smokey could see the shadow of concern in his eyes.

“I’ll show you a bird.” Mimic tried to lift his hand but Stitch lowered it again.

“Don’t aggravate your injuries,” he admonished.

Mimic’s eyes slid closed and didn’t open again. A minute later he was snoring.

They arrived back at the ship to find Trix directing a couple of droids who were loading the cargo bay with crates.

“Hey! You guys are-” The smile drained off her face as she saw Mimic. “What happened? Is he OK?”

“Does your med station have a stretcher?” Stitch asked.

“Yeah!” She turned, running into the ship.

It didn’t take long to get Mimic situated and checked over. He had a couple of sprained ribs and a concussion, but Stitch said that with some rest he should be fine. Mar also applied some of her Jedi healing techniques, apologizing for not being more proficient.

“I’ve mostly only had to heal myself, before,” she said.

“That’s okay, General.” Mimic patted her hand. “If you were healing yourself it’d mean we kriffed up. At least it’s just me.”

She frowned at him. “Just you? You’re important too, Mimic. You all are.” 

She looked up, meeting Smokey’s eyes. They were in the room Mimic was sharing with Stitch, though the medic was currently wolfing down the dinner Trix had made for them.

Smokey ducked his head, deciding he really didn’t want to have this discussion right now. “I should go check on Boba.” 

He almost bumped into Trix on the way. She was carrying a tray laden down with food and heading for Mimic’s room. He rolled his eyes. The dragonbirds weren’t her fault. From what she’d told them she’d delivered a few dozen fledglings to someone who’d been planning a farm. The ones in the warehouse had either escaped or they were the offspring of ones who’d escaped. But she still felt guilty and heaped extra attention on Mimic, who was thriving on it. She’d even said something about  _ braiding his hair _ later. Smokey wasn’t looking forward to what would happen when they got back to Coruscant and they parted ways. He’d seen Mimic mope before and he could rival Boba on sheer emo.

Speaking of their youngest member…

He followed the smell of sizzling meat to the lounge. Boba was curled up on one end of the couch, eating meat skewers as he read. Tooka’s legs were angled across his lap, feet resting on the armrest. The quilt Boba was usually wrapped in was now draped partially over Tooka, too, who was sound asleep with an empty plate on his chest.

Earlier, while Stitch had been examining the extent of Mimic’s injuries, Boba had let Thumper help him remove his armor and even tolerated having his hair ruffled.

It was a slow process, but at least he was beginning to tolerate his brothers a little more. Though it would likely be a long time before he ever actually called them his brothers.

Smokey grabbed a plate and filled it with meat and protatoes covered with little green things. As first missions went this one had gone a bit sideways, but at least they’d all gotten out alive and Mar thought some of the data crystals they’d gotten would provide more leads to follow up.

Back on Kamino he would have scoffed at the idea that hunting down information could be as rewarding as hunting down droids, but right now he couldn’t imagine being happier anywhere else. Maybe this would work out after all.


End file.
